


Walking the Wire

by meirencollector



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Action & Romance, F/M, Feelings Realization, Fencing, Identity Reveal, Lessons Underneath the Moonlight, Reveal by Combat, Sharing a Brain, Swordplay, adrien and marinette work on their single shared braincell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:07:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27432505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meirencollector/pseuds/meirencollector
Summary: All she wanted to do was surprise Adrien and show him she could actually handle a sword. Maybe he'd change his mind about her for once.All he wanted to do was help surprise whoever this boy Ladybug liked and get his ass handed to him. Maybe she'd change her mind about him for once.One fencing match later, swords are crossed, blows are exchanged, and they both get the surprise of their lives.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe
Comments: 23
Kudos: 373





	Walking the Wire

An echoing series of whooshes and clangs cut through the chatter of the crowd. A long, singing note of metal scraping against metal, and then the reverberating clash of a thin silver blade glancing off its opponent’s guard. 

Adrien was fighting for his life.

Okay, that was an exaggeration — he was fencing. Maybe not for his life, but it sure seemed that way to Marinette as her stomach lurched every time Monsieur D'Argencourt flicked his wrist. She had to remind herself once again that this was just a demonstration, for the students who were about to have stage matches of their own.

“Knowing how to wield a sword, whether it’s the sabres we’re using today, or something as dangerous as a cutlass — is an invaluable skill,” the teacher said, slicing the point of his sword through the air in short, whiplike movements. “We rarely need to engage in battle, thanks to the efforts of Ladybug and Chat Noir. However,” — he snapped his blade sideways toward Adrien, and without even looking at the boy, he brought his sword up and parried the blow as he looked to the students — “they aren’t always going to be there to save you.” 

The duel that followed was just for show, merely a lesson; neither he nor Adrien were even wearing their fencing masks.

It was late in the afternoon on Monday, and everyone was huddled around the court for their fencing lessons, the last class of the day. The entire class had changed out of their regular clothes into the white fencing uniforms. Marinette had arrived late at the supply closet just as the last face mask had been snagged, but that didn’t really bother her at all. She was very much hoping to avoid the embarrassment of having the entire class witness her inexperience: it was obvious from the way the others were practicing lunges last week that she was definitely of below average skill.

But good thing she came prepared, just in case.

_“The idea is to present as small a target for your opponent as possible,” Chat explained to her, eyes glinting in the moonlight, “So you set your weight on one foot and lead with your sword foot, and then steady yourself—into striking range and then away.”_

Monsieur D'Argencourt continued to engage in a rush of jabs and parries against Adrien, making a dense clatter as they expertly fought off each other’s blows. When his blade glanced wide to the left, the teacher lunged forward, but Adrien quickly rocked back, sweeping his sword up and around onto his opponent’s wrist.

_“Touché,” he said, laughing. “Were these poles sharp and you weren’t my opponent,” Chat shook his head, “I’m afraid that this hand would be lying bloody on the ground.” He presses his lips against her wrist. “Sorry, m’lady.”_

_“It’s alright, kitty,” she grinned, settling back into her stance. “Do your worst.”_

Adrien flung himself sideways at his opponent, almost seeming to rise off the ground. In the frenzy that followed, Marinette lost track of the boy’s sword as it crisscrossed through the air again and again, nearly slicing into their teacher, who ducked sideways just in time and resurfaced behind him. But the younger fencer was ready for it and knocked the other’s blade away, before dropping the point of his own and striking out at the opponent’s waist.

_“I’m afraid m'lady will lose this bet,” he tuts, looking down at her. “You better be prepared to be taken out for a date.”_

_“We’ll see,” she laughed as she rose to stand back up, raising a hand to smoothen her hair, “We’ll see.”_

Marinette shook off her memories of those nights, trying to focus on the present circumstances. She was used to being jittery, but surprisingly, the rest of the class was similarly jittery. That is, jittery with excitement. Watching two skilled players deeply engaged in a match, not a single one of them could keep still. While Adrien was obviously far ahead in skill in their class, some of her fellow classmates weren’t bad either. Alya and Nino did amazing with their match, stepping lithely in and out of lunges. Sunlight glinted off their swords, off their padded white uniforms. Alya’s thick auburn waves cascaded out in a gorgeous halo around her shoulders as she spun around Nino. Their feet wove patterns on the floor as she moved in a fox-like prance, her boyfriend following her steps — it made the match look almost like a dance. They were so in sync, to the awe and surprise of their classmates, but Marinette knew this was a rhythm built by the long combat practices the two would do in secret, in case when duty calls. Sparks seemed to fly each time their swords connected. Sparks of their romance, perhaps?

As she watched her friends, memories of last night’s match with Chat Noir raced through her mind once more. She wondered if she would ever get the chance to face him in a setting like this, at least once. Marinette wondered what then would spark between them. But if she was going to be honest with herself, then she might as well willingly lose the bet. 

A cheer rang out from her classmates. It felt like Marinette had only blinked, but she had missed it. The point of Alya’s sword jabbed into Nino’s chest. Close to the heart. She pressed against him to the point where her thin blade bent into an arc. Both of them stood still for a moment, looking each other in the eye. 

_“Right through my heart,” Chat said, feigning pain._

_“Perhaps you should guard it better,” she countered._

_He sighed, voice drawn to a whisper. “Not when you’ve already taken it away.”_

“Another win for the team,” Chloé muttered, snapping her out of her thoughts. She tipped her head and dropped her voice as she spoke. “I hope you came prepared, Dupain-Cheng. I don’t really like to lose.”

The comment seemed loaded, but Chloé just bounced lightly as she readied herself, slid her mask over her face, and tightened her ponytail. Ready to go.

“Miss Rossi,” Monsieur D'Argencourt called. He was looking over to the brunette, sheathing his sword in a narrow black leather case and nodding to the northwest corner of the court where Marinette was standing. “You’ll match with Miss Bourgeois over here.”

On her left, Sabrina came in to lean and whisper, “You and Lila have been at it for so long — what’s her weakness? Chloé can’t lose.”

Marinette’s mind went blank. “Um… I don’t…” Looking over at Lila, whose mask already covered her face, she realized how very little she really knew about the girl. Not that she wanted to know either. 

Chloé waved her hand. “Don’t bother. There’s no way that girl’s going to beat me, I’ve taken classes as a child.” She walked forward, chuckling. “Ridiculous.” Suddenly stopping in her tracks, she looked back at Marinette. “And don’t wish me luck. You’re the one who’s going to need it.”

Monsieur D'Argencourt had since moved to the other side of the court, near the entrance, and was sipping from a bottle of water. “Haprèle and Bruel, take this corner,” he directed the couple who were busily talking to themselves. “Bourgeois and Rossi, come match right here.” He gestured to the corner of the court directly in front of Marinette. “The rest of you will watch for now.”

Marinette was relieved her own name hadn’t been called. The more she saw of Monsieur D'Argencourt’s teaching method, the less she understood it. One intimidating demonstration took the place of any real instruction. Not watch and learn, just straight to watch and perform. She pondered if Chat had been too gentle with teaching her, remembering how he explained to her slowly and clearly until she fully understood. But she soon waved off the doubts as she remembered their matches; if the rest of the class was as skilled as her partner, then she wouldn’t really stand a chance.

“En garde!” Lila bellowed, lunging forward into a squat with the tip of her sword just inches from the blonde, whose sword was still sheathed. Chloé quickly dodged her attack, gritting her teeth. “You can’t come at me while I’m prepping for battle, Rossi.”

“Oh sorry,” the brunette took a step back, seemingly apologetic. “I don’t know the rules well.”

“What were you, raised by savages?” Chloé huffed as she readied her stance. “Okay,” she said, drawing her sword. “Now I’m ready.”

Lila, who had been holding her deep lunge throughout the break, now straightened up and mimed looking down at her nails. “Are you sure? You can just admit you can’t fight me,” she said, psyching Chloé out just long enough to allow her to drop into an offensive stance and swing her sword around. “I’ve actually been getting lessons from an Olympic medalist who won last year.”

“How ridiculous!” Chloé barked, but to Marinette’s surprise, she instantly ratcheted up her swordsmanship, swishing her blade skillfully through the air and knocking Lila’s aside. Chloé was actually a fencing badass. She trudged over to Lila who was pitifully picking up her sword, “There were no Olympics last year, genius.”

A burst of laughter came from her side. Now refreshed from her previous match, Alya was enjoying the show, doubling over, “That was a good one,” she giggled, sniffing, “I wish I had recorded it.” Marinette nodded, holding back a laugh. While her best friend had been thoroughly humored by the match, she herself had been taking notes.

Chloé was a steady, patient fighter. Where Lila’s technique was showy and reckless, her limbs whirling in a virtual tango across the floor, Chloé was careful with her lunges, almost as if she had only so many to ration out. She kept her knees bent and never gave up anything. 

_“I can’t do this anymore,” she panted, kneeling, “My arm hurts. My head hurts. Everywhere hurts.”_

_Chat chuckled, twirling the half of the baton in his hand. “To be honest, I think you’re already quite above the average with your combat reflexes,” he reached out his hand, “if your opponent is within our age group, you’d probably win the match.”_

_“No,” she laughed bitterly, grabbing his hand tightly as she stood up. “He’s the best there is.”_

_He raised an eyebrow. “There aren’t many that I’d think can match up to me.”_

_She stared, watching as his blond hair and green eyes were illuminated in the moonlight. “Well, in more ways than one, it seems like I’ve met your match.”_

“Yes!” Alya exclaimed, and Marinette just had enough time to see Chloé go in with a whip-over, touch Lila’s undefended chest, and score the winning point.

She let out a breath of relief. They might have a chance of winning after all. Not that it was anything serious. The class often had the kinds of gym games where one group had to win against the other, but this one felt particularly important for Marinette’s sheer blind competitiveness and the secret hope of impressing the boy she liked with her ability to swing a sword. 

But she didn’t expect being paired up against _him._ How was she going to win? 

She sure wished Chat could be here right now beside her to cheer her on.

“Ready?” Adrien appeared at her side, handing her a mask. “We’re up next, aren’t we?”

“N-Next?” She looked at the clock a little too hopefully. “Isn’t the bell about to ring?”

Adrien grinned. “Nice try, Marinette. You’ve just started learning, so there’s nothing to be embarrassed or worried about. Nothing to lose either.”

“I doubt that.” Marinette fingered the thin mesh screen. If she didn’t win, she’d probably seem non-existent to him. Plus, she’d have to go on a date with a particular cat if she lost. Which... didn’t seem to be a bad idea after all. “Adrien, I—”

“I’m not going to hurt you, Marinette. As long as my opponent is you, I’d never do that.”

“Thanks,” she smiled as she felt a little relieved, his words sounding familiar and warm. “But I was going to say that you shouldn’t go easy against me. I’ve practiced quite a bit.”

He nodded, grinning, “Of course.”

“You two,” Monsieur D'Argencourt called in a low voice. He motioned to the space in the middle of the court. “Take your place.”

“Good luck, Marinette.” he patted her on the back. “It’s going to be fine.”

There were just less than ten students looking over, but to Marinette, it felt as though there were a hundred.

Monsieur D'Argencourt stood with his arms folded casually over his chest. His face was serene, but to Marinette it looked a bit forced. Thoughts began to spiral in her head. Maybe he intended for Marinette to lose in the most brutal, embarrassing manner possible. Why else would he pit her against Adrien, who towered over her by at least half a foot, and whose fencing ability was far greater than anyone else’s on the court?

“I’ve never done this,” Marinette said shyly. It was true, she had never fought in a setting like this. If late-night parrying with flirting counted as a match, then she’d have a lifetime’s worth of experience, but on a court like this? None at all.

“It’s okay, Miss Dupain-Cheng, you don’t need to be skilled yet,” he said. “We’re merely trying to gauge your relative capacity. Just remember what Adrien and I showed you at the start of the session and you’ll do fine.”

Yeah, as if she was really paying attention during that. Her mind was drifting elsewhere back there.

_“You’ll do great,” he said. “Don’t be afraid. Think of your opponent as me.”_

She slid the mask down over her face, then looked at the other masked person in front of her. Marinette thought Adrien was such a nice person for patiently waiting for her that she didn’t mind thinking of him as Chat. 

But sadly, their instructor wasn’t a patient one.

“En garde!” he practically shouted. 

Both were surprised at the call, but Marinette’s feet went straight to action out of her jitters and did the first thing that came to mind.

_“How about I teach you a neat trick, m’lady,” he said, guiding her hand, “You have to do it in an instant, as soon as it begins. Even I wouldn’t be able to counter it with the right timing.”_

Marinette lunged forward and flashed her sword round with a peculiar twist, Adrien’s sword flew out of his grip, and the boy was left wringing his empty hand as one would do after a “sting” from a cricket-bat.

There were gasps all around, and Marinette lifted off her mask, face full of shock. “Adrien, are you okay?” taking a step forward, “I’m sorry, it was all of a sudden—”

Still masked, Adrien held up a hand to stop her. “It’s fine,” he said, slowly picking up his weapon. “That was quite something, Marinette. Where did you learn it?”

Her throat felt dry. “I just learned it over the week, from some research or something,” she answered, trying not to let the nervousness get to her.

He resumed his stance, steadier than the last one. But his voice sounded the opposite. “That was a neat trick, I must say.” Adrien bent down, left arm holding the sword at her. “Very neat.”

Swallowing deeply, she slid the mask back down over her face, clutching her sabre tighter. Marinette actually didn’t even know how to hold it properly. She inwardly cursed their stupidity as they had settled for his baton as practice sword. The teen fumbled with the handle, wondering whether she should put it in her right or left hand. She wrote right-handed, but then to her surprise, she discovered she fought with her left. 

_“I’m left-handed too, when I fight,” he said, moving behind her. He stood with his shoulders brushing her back, practically folding his body around the heroine and taking her left hand, and the sword, in his._

She repositioned her grip, and something warm and tremendously soothing flowed through her as she imagined the way he did it. Perhaps the thought of him gave her strength, or maybe courage—Marinette didn’t understand how it worked, but she was grateful. It was just like he was here.

_“You’ll want a light grip,” he said, directing her fingers around the hilt under the guard. “Grip too tightly and your direction of the blade becomes less nimble, your defensive moves more limited. Grip too lightly and the blade can be spun out of your hands.”_

She held the grip of the sword’s hilt just under the guard. 

_“Advance.”_

She moved forward, thrusting the sword in Adrien’s direction.

_“Disengage.” Chat moved her backwards, then retreated his hand, letting her take control. He stepped away and circled to face her, whispering, “The rest is just gilding the lily.”_

Marinette gulped. Gilding the what?

"En garde! Prêts? Allez!"

At the end of Monsieur D'Argencourt words, with his legs bent, Adrien charged his sword straight at her. With barely a beat passing, Marinette quickly retreated, two quick galloping steps; then, when she felt at a safe enough distance, lunged forward with her sword extended. The two blades flashed in the sunlight. For a second, the clash rang through the air, but it was immediately drowned as the students began shouting like the crowds at a football match.

“Well done, Marinette, oh, well done girl!” shouted Alya as Adrien reeled back a whole pace and a half. “Follow it up, quick!” And she did, and for a few seconds it looked as if the match was leaning in her favor. But then Adrien pulled himself together — and began to make real use of his height and weight.

“Adrien! Adrien! You can do it!!” came the roar of Nino and Ivan, earning a few pointed looks from their girlfriends.

Marinette continued to engage in a rush of jabs and parries against Adrien, making resounding clangs as they fought off each other’s attacks. 

_“Fencing, m’lady, is a game of living chess, a match where reflexes only work in combination with intent, and mind and body must work together at every moment,” he said, dodging skillfully as she swung down, reading her moves as he parried her blows. “Without a plan, there is no attack, without an attack, there is no victory.”_

Adrien broke away and backed off. Marinette watched him dip and spin a few times, and began to try figuring him out.

“Why aren’t they attacking?” a voice whined from the back. “Are they scared?”

“Watch closer, Miss Rossi,” Monsieur D'Argencourt drawled. “They’re beginning again, more scientifically this time. Circling round and round, feeling each other’s defenses.” He hummed, voice pensive. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they’ve fought before. Brilliant.”

Adrien was definitely brilliant, moving with cat-like grace. There was carefully placed misdirection in his every move, as he would feint in one direction then whip the point of his sabre around in a high, tight arc to try to get past her defenses. It was so fast and hard to predict. But it wasn't something she had never seen before.

So Marinette tried the same move, calculating a few steps further ahead, and as she swung the tip of her sword back around to get her first point, just south of Adrien’s heart, the boy let out a low grunt.

Marinette winced and backed away. She didn’t think she even touched him very hard. “Are you okay?” she called out, about to lift her mask.

“Right through my heart,” Adrien said, sounding a mix of pained and amused. He quickly recovered himself, returning to position. “Your research last week must have been one of a kind, Marinette.”

She barely had the time to ponder what those words meant as Adrien raised his sword to meet hers, turning her wrist to clash thrice before they disengaged. 

After those few touches, they were evenly matched. Adrien had become accustomed to her, and Marinette had relied on instinct and memory to match his attacks. They were getting wired, fencing for more than two minutes without a hit. They began to fence so quickly that the arcs of their blades all but disappeared; there was only a fine fury and a faint buzz in the air and the constant crack of their swords against one another.

Marinette’s pulse was racing. She felt an energy coursing through her, just like the night’s she’d spent practicing with Chat. Sparks definitely flew in her mind’s view, it was like electricity as adrenaline surged through their veins, movements linking together, thoughts becoming clearer.

She was actually good at this, perhaps almost as good as him, who seemed to be a natural at everything he did. Marinette, who had fought with the sabre for the first time, was tied with him four-on-four, and realized she actually had a chance to win. She knew his movements, it was like second nature, just like he knew hers. Just one more point. Just one more to beat Chat.

She froze.

Adrien took her sudden halt to his advantage, barreling toward her once again, sword poised. She felt the air lurch in her throat.

But in the nick of time, Marinette dipped deftly to the left of her sword, spun around, then came back from below with her own, clashing against his. Their blades slid against each other until they reached a midpoint, then held, their masks grating against each other, faces merely a hair's breadth away.

Steeled back to her senses, she had to put all her strength into stopping Adrien’s sabre with the pressure of her own. Her arms were shaking, but her heart beat wildly to find Adrien holding this position. If this was a match of strength, there was only one she knew of who could rival hers.

She could hear the other students cheering, some even calling out their names, again and again. She could hear Alya, and she thought she could even hear Chloé, which egged her on further. 

But the sound of their voices might as well have been non-existent, drowned out, as she heard the voice she wanted to cheer her on the most.

“You’re doing excellent, m’lady.” 

No one else but them could hear it, be it the words he whispered, or her heart thumping out of her chest. No one else but them could see it, but she was so sure a smile played on his lips, mouth turning to a cheshire grin. He probably knew she was now wide-eyed, trying to find the words to say.

"Thank you, _chaton_ ," she managed to utter, absolutely breathless. "I’ve worked very hard over the week to become so."

"Quite evident. You seem to be faring better than I am," he admitted, chuckling.

"So it seems,” she answers, voice still in disbelief. “But if that’s true, then why are you laughing?"

"Because," shaking his head, tone laced in mirth, "For the past few days, I’ve worked hard for the girl I’m in love with, planning to help her win, hoping her opponent — that she is so enamored with, instead of me — would lose and taste bitter defeat.”

She sucked in her breath. "And now? What’s your plan now?"

“I’m afraid, m'lady, now I have no plans to lose.” 

Clash.

Adrien’s sword once again collided with Marinette’s. The boy grunted at the blow, and she could hear her own breath inside the mask, panting as she tried to fend off his sword. It was getting hot, she wasn’t sure if it was the suit, the sweltering heat of the sun or the idea of facing him. Unable to withstand it further, she retreated a few steps and took off her headgear to cool down.

But then Adrien also took off his own and set it aside. Marinette didn’t expect him to do the same, and now she really, really wished she hadn’t done it in the first place. She drew in a slow breath. This was fine. 

But as soon as they squared up again, she knew this wouldn’t be fine at all. 

“Why did you take it off?” she asked. Marinette was sure this wasn't allowed. “Aren’t you used to the heat?” 

He grinned. “Yes, but I wanted to see your face better.”

Her cheeks caught on fire. She couldn’t look at him but she had to look at him. _Be ready. Light on your feet. Watch for the signs, m’lady._ His lessons flew from her mind. What she thought as she stared into his eyes was how green they were. How strong his shoulders looked. How, really, he was _grand_. Finally she couldn’t stand her own giddy thoughts anymore. She lunged. He blew past her right side, his movement shifting more air and light than before.

Adrien smiled as they faced each other again.

“Are you still laughing?” Marinette raised an eyebrow as she made a gut-quick move forward, drawing the blade in a low arc. Adrien leaped to the side, though she nearly grazed him on the arm.

“That was well done,” he said, still smiling, “but I’m not going down that easily.”

They met in the center for the final assault. Neither of them conceded anything. The sound of metal clashing metal rose. A final burst of energy surged through Marinette's veins and she made every attempt, tried every trick, used every hour of every day that she had learned from him. 

_She leaned into his shoulder, all tired and worn out. “If he really turns out to be as good as you,” she sighed, “What do I do?”_

_He hummed. “I’d doubt it, but if it was against me, wouldn’t you know my weakness the best?”_

Her sword slid down his and the two of them broke away. A moment sooner than Adrien, Marinette lunged forward in one clean intuitive motion, thrusting her sword point right, then left, then inches against Adrien’s side. The class cheered, but Marinette didn’t stop. She quickly placed a kiss on his cheek before pulling away. It took effect as expected — now he was the one frozen in his steps. Marinette took his sudden halt to her advantage, quickly disengaging then coming straight back a second time, plunging the tip of her weapon into the padding near Adrien’s gut. That was five.

The class exploded in cheers and jumped to their feet, and Marinette could feel her classmates surrounding her. Alya and Mylène hugged her from both sides, giving ecstatic squeezes. Sabrina came forward next for a high five, and Marinette could see Chloé at the back nodding at her in acknowledgement.

Soon enough, the bell rang, signalling the end of their class. The students took their cue to leave under the watchful eye of Monsieur D'Argencourt, still excitedly buzzing about the matches they had witnessed as the equipment was packed away and students began heading towards the lockers.

Finally, after the crowd around her had dispersed, Marinette could see the boy lying in the middle of the floor, eyes looking up to the sky. She walked up to him, peering down to meet his gaze. His hair seemed so disheveled from the match, a little too similar to a particular hero she knew. A smile seeped out of his lips. “That was some fine close-quarter work, Marinette. Nothing you learned from your teacher, but you handled it pretty well.”

“Thanks,” she said, holding a hand out to him. “My teacher gave me a few good pointers about your weakness. Then I realized, I couldn’t possibly lose.”

He took her hand, standing up to his feet. “You know I love battling by your side, m'lady,” he held her hand tighter, pressing his lips to her fingers, “But I could never bring myself to fight you.”

“Was that why were you still smiling back there?” she asked, letting go of his hand as she held it up above his chest. “Or were you underestimating me?”

Adrien shook his head as laughter bubbled out of his mouth. “I couldn’t concentrate. I thought I could do it, facing you.” He put his hands up in defeat. “Really couldn’t.” Then he came closer. Marinette didn’t think her heart could beat any faster, but faster it did, faster with every step he took toward her, until it hammered against her chest, making her breathless when he stopped right in front of her. Her palm rested on his chest. She stared at it, her heart in her throat. She stared at the way it pressed into his shirt.

“I’ve been thinking about it, when we were practicing. When we were exchanging blows. When I found out. Wanting to fight with you, maybe trying to make you lose.” His shoulders came up. “Then I realized I didn’t want to do it anymore.”

“Why?” Marinette’s voice was high and thin.

He smiled, a flash of shyness, before he leaned close. “There are other things I’d rather do when I’m with you.”

She took another step closer. “Then do them.”

His hands came up, cradling her chin. Cloth grazed her cheek, and he lowered his head and brought his lips to hers. The kiss was as warm and soft as she had ever imagined it would be, but not nearly long enough. He backed away from her before she knew it.

“Was that all right?” he whispered, close. “I know kissing me isn’t… this has to be your lead, your pace—”

Marinette rolled up onto her toes. She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought her lips to his. The soft warmth of his mouth sent a wave of fire through her. Adrien froze, then his arms tightened around her ribs as he deepened their kiss. They molded together, fitted against each other with stunning perfection. Marinette had never felt as she did now, exploring the taste of him. Feeling the strength of his arms around her. Inhaling sweat and the scent of his cologne. She felt as though she’d found a moment of forever. Like this was how they should’ve always been.

“Does this mean the bet is off?” he murmured against her lips.

She drew apart from his mouth, and the first thing she saw was the grin she always savored.

“We’ll see,” she laughed, coming back closer, raising a hand to smoothen his hair, and perhaps have another taste of his kiss. “We’ll see.”

**Author's Note:**

> adrien and marinette ~~pushing the limits of sword safety and logistics~~ for the romance
> 
> many thanks to khan and liminal, whose expertise kept the matches a little closer to reality.


End file.
